


Magic

by Beleriandings



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Helcaraxë, Sad Nolofinwean feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 20:19:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5798587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Aredhel + Idril + "Magic"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magic

There was little enough food on the Helcaraxë, to be sure, but Itarillë, Irissë decided, needed it more than she did. Her now-motherless niece was a tiny slip of a thing, especially lately. They all were, but seeing the gauntness in Itarillë’s childish face was a particular daily pain for Irissë. And so, every day she would save a little of her own portion of dried seal meat, or fish when they could get it, steeling herself to save it, to give to Itarillë. 

(She knew, too, that Turukáno was doing the same, and more so. Once, perhaps, she would have mentioned it to him, tried to talk him out of it, but, she thought, she was hardly in a position to do so. And so she hoped too that what she gave Itarillë meant her brother would fade a little less, as well as his daughter. Besides, she had no energy to argue with him. She could barely even meet his gaze some days, his eyes stony, empty, implacable.)

But Irissë was well rewarded, every time Itarillë’s eyes brightened, when offered an extra morsel of food. “Where did you get it?” Itarillë would always ask, nibbling reverently, trying to make it last. “I thought we were running short?”

“It’s magic” Irissë would always say, with the brightest smile she could summon to her windchilled face. “I conjured it, with magic. Now, eat up, little one.”

And Itarillë would accept that, and thank her, and they would carry on. Irissë supposed the girl knew, or half-knew; Itarillë was young, but she had always been a sharp one, and highly perceptive. But then, perhaps Itarillë also knew why Irissë did it. 

Every night the icy wind wailed in the rigging of their tents, and every night when Irissë curled up amongst her sleeping family, she wished and wished that they truly carried magic with them. She wouldn’t even have wanted much; just enough to get them to the other side. 

But, failing that, she often thought, enough magic to bring a hint of a smile to a little girl’s face was certainly better than nothing. 


End file.
